


Paper Lips

by honeylimbed



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bruises, Edging, Except Jerome isn't in college, F/M, First Time, Kind of a college au too I guess, Knifeplay, Loss of Virginity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Tags to be added, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5644132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeylimbed/pseuds/honeylimbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can a person you have never met haunt your dreams? It makes no sense. </p><p>Coming to college was supposed to be a new start for you. However, when your dreams are invaded by a red haired boy and your past slowly begins to unearth everything starts spiralling. It certainly doesn't help when you start seeing the boy from your dreams in person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Day

Pearls of sweat bead down a lovely, porcelain neck. The sticky post rain air always held a strange, muggy aftertaste and with it comes devilish nights.

 

Warm hands trace over your sides, feeling out the seams of your body in slow and careful caresses. It felt like you were being worshipped. You felt hot breath just brushing over your skin, and the drop of a kiss against the inside of your neck. Opening your mouth, you just whimpered out a noise and the boy looked up at you, his green eyes alight.

Suddenly, those delicate touches and tender movements were rough and harsh. A big, steel like hand closed around your throat as nails scratched down your sides, making you quiver and moan breathlessly, as his fingers pushed between your thighs to find your pussy.

“Please--” you managed, sounding like velvet. For just a moment, you think it makes him soften, but that hellish twinkle remains burning bright within his eyes.

Chuckling lowly, his teeth raked over your ear and then he purred, “Aww, sweetheart. D’you want more?”

As if on cue, every part of your feeble body roared: _yes!_ Yes, you wanted more. You desperately wanted everything that this red-headed boy would give you, the roughness and the way he rubbed harshly at your clit, you wanted it.

“What’s that, kitten?” he asked. Instead of releasing your neck, or removing his hand from where his fingers were in between your spread legs and were now teasing at the lips of your wet pussy while his thumb rolled over and over your clit, he just did it more persistently; trying to get a rise out of you. “Got something to say?”

Your wide eyes focused on him, even within the darkness of your bedroom you could tell how attractive he was, with his sculpted features and swollen kiss-hungry lips. It didn’t help that he was making you writhe and he oozed this… power, the kind of power which made you want to fall to your knees, bend over and do whatever he wanted.

Without hesitating you said, “More.”

A wicked, serpentine smirk folded against his lips as he leaned in and pressed his teeth into your skin.

 

When you wake up, you are panting hard and clutching your chest as your heart goes off like a hummingbird’s beating. Vivid thoughts of your dreams drive through your mind and you lift a manicured hand to your long, now damp with sweat hair to try and collect yourself. What happened to you last night to fill your dreams with such… crassness?

Your heart was still pounding when suddenly and startlingly a raucous noise causes you to jolt in a panic. When you turn, anxious and wide-eyed, a sigh of relief flooded through you.

“Well,” you sighed. “At least I didn’t sleep through my alarm.”

Once you have steeled yourself and decide to get up and start your day, you head to the bathroom. It’s your first day of college and you want to do things right. Maybe having an off-campus apartment isn’t exactly right, but your family's assets and ties in Gotham are certainly helpful and sometimes you simply can’t be wasteful. After all, you worked so hard and laboriously through years of high-school and then another year spent working for your father’s company before heading to college outside of the city. You deserve this apartment, even if it is luxurious enough that your peers while most likely scowl.

Thankfully, you’re open to the idea of making new friends and starting fresh.

When you go to the bathroom, everything is mostly a fatigued blur. You’re still dizzied from your dreams and brush your teeth mindlessly, thoughts far away and thinking of red hair… green eyes. Shaking your head, you know you need to focus and that is what you are going to do. College is important, if you want to get away from the stigma of being nothing more than a girl from money who has everything handed to her you need to prove it.

Taking your time, you decide to wash your face and then do your makeup. It is a simple “back to school” kind of look that you end up selecting and it goes perfectly with your features in an understated but flattering fashion; when you step back you can’t help but smile. Good. Except, as you look at yourself you notice a daisy chain of deep purple bruises that string across your neck like a choker tattoo.

Holding your hand against your neck, you stare at yourself and run your fingers over the markings. Craning your throat, you look at how it tangles around you in an obscene, dirty way and the unsteadying of your heart starts up again. What is this? And more importantly: how did it get there?

Swallowing harshly, you take a look down at your watch and decide that there simply isn’t enough time to dwell and that you probably just slept bad. You have always been a fitful, restless sleeper and sometimes stay up half the night. When you get dressed, you decide to wear black thigh high boots and a cute grey body hugging turtleneck dress along with simple gold jewelry. It makes you look classy, possibly too classy for an ordinary crowd but you’re at college now and pretences are a thing of the past… except they aren’t. Not even close.

When you decide that you’re done you leave the bathroom and head to pick up your books and bag before going to campus. It’s only ten minutes away by car so you head to get some breakfast first, opting for a burrito and a cup of coffee. Maybe it would have been nice to pick up a book, head out earlier and gotten in some reading time however there isn’t going to be enough time to spare for that today.

Getting to college wasn’t a problem, fortunately you had been there a few days earlier for orientation and so far you were glad with your class choices. Deciding to Major in English hadn’t exactly been easy on your business orientated family, but after some extensive begging you had managed to pull some strings. Here you were. Finally.

Walking through the campus, you know that you have to go to the building that--

“Y/N?”

Spinning around, you see the familiar face of a high school friend. Your face falls minutely but you quickly cover it up with a sharp smile, “Oh, hi… Becca.” You look around, checking to see whether anyone has noticed and then turn back to the girl. “I didn’t know you were going to college here.”

“Yeah!” Becca exclaims. She seems really excited to see you, “It’s my second year in Economics. Wow, I haven’t seen you since--”

You cut her off by saying, “Okay, I have to get to my first class. I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, sure,” the girl nods adamantly. “Do you need help? Tell me where it is and I’ll take you.”

“No, I’m fine,” you assure her, but Becca is already taking a look at your notes and sees the building and class number. “Hey, I know this one! I’ll take you there.”

You stifle a sigh but nod anyway. What else can you do at this point? The two of you walk together to your class while Becca talks about college life.

“There’s a party tonight,” she tells you. “I don’t go to them often but if you want to meet people and catch up we can go together.”

You’re hesitant. After all, you want to leave the past in the past. Having ghosts wasn’t exactly your plan but you shrug, “That sounds fun.”

“Great,” Becca says.

Your old friend is beginning to talk about her own classes when you see it. Him. The books in your hands slip through your fingers,as you watch that flash of brilliant red hair emerge. Bright, beautiful green eyes that have a lewd iridescence. It’s impossible to take your eyes off of him but then your books are tumbling against the floor and instinctively you look down. Becca is holding your arm and asking if everything is alright. You look up, away from the books and your friend, searching again.

And then he’s gone.


	2. Pushing Daises

When you imagined your first day of class all the possibilities in your mind figured the low buzzing of students, pens on paper and keys on laptops being crunched. The rush of what life would be like, so different and more liberated than high school and under less of an iron fist than working for your father… You pictured the large auditoriums with too many faces and a professor at the head of it all, saying words that would inject a sense of hopefulness into you.

Truthfully, all of these things are present and your first day of class is almost exactly how you envisioned so many times before that it would be like.

However, what you didn’t expect was to spend the entire hour of your first day at University stuck in a trance. It was impossible to stop thinking about him.

What you saw… It simply couldn’t have happened. Not that you had an explanation for it, but the alternative was too ominous to even begin to fathom.

You found yourself idly running your fingers along the length of your turtleneck, feeling the way your unexplained bruises throbbed in a dull way beneath your touch. Touching them felt like some sort of a connection; to him, maybe. You sighed, mentally reprimanding yourself for thinking something so ridiculous.

Earlier, when you had seen the boy with red hair from your dreams, your friend Becca had been reluctant to let you go from class. She said that you looked as if you had seen a ghost, and in many ways you felt that you had. But what normal way was there to say that you had seen a person from your dreams? The fact simply was that there wasn’t. So, you told her that you were feeling light-headed from nerves and dismissed her attempts at getting you to the campus doctor before leaving in a rush for your class.

At the end of your class, you slid your Macbook Air into your bag and lift your books. You had planned on maybe talking to the professor in an attempt to find out more about the class or maybe even trying to get to know some of your peers but all of those plans are gone with the wind and you have nothing but a one track mind.

Though you only have two classes left throughout the day, it blurs by and all the while you are daydreaming about the glimpse of him and the way you remember flickers of touches from your dreams. You bite your pen as you do, twirl your hair between your fingers and have the lingering sense that someone is watching you. But that makes no sense, so you tell yourself to stop dwelling and let it go.

When your day is over, it feels as if it had barely begun but you are exhausted. By the time you get to your car, you have relaxed a little and the plague of thoughts surrounding a strange unidentified boy have been put on the backburner. You need to call your family and let them know how you’re going, not that you’re particularly keen on having that conversation, but it was one of the mutually agreed points in the arrangement of you leaving-- constantly checking in and letting everyone know at home that you are alright. It’s ridiculous to you, after all, you’re not even an hour away from them but even if you can only be kept at arm’s length then that is good enough for you.

Sitting in the car, you dial the familiar number and wait, mindlessly looking out your window as you wait for them to pick up.

“Hello?”

It takes a lot out of you to stifle a sigh, but you do and manage to cheerfully reply, “Hey, mom. How’s everything?”

“Oh, baby,” she croons, in that overly affectionate way that you have known ever since you were a child. “Everything’s fine here, of course. We’re missing you already! How’s everything with the apartment? Tell me about your first day at college.”

Clearing your throat, you ignore the smattering of vulgar fantasies that come rushing to your mind and say, “Yeah, everything went well.” As you speak, you trace your fingers beneath your turtleneck, feeling the bruises that bend along your clavicle. “It was great… Even better than I expected,” if you want to make sure that they don’t suspect anything is wrong you realize that you need to butter it up a little more. “I miss you guys. How’s the business doing without me? It hasn’t gone under yet, right?”

“Please,” your mom laughs. “Your dad has everything under control, don’t you worry about that. He was asking about you today.”

“Yeah?” You’re only half listening at this point, as your doe like eyes roam around the scenery around you and your hands feel at the bruises that are kissed against your neck. Across the street, you see a silhouette peeking out from the sidewalk and curiously sit forward, barely able to keep up with your mother’s conversation.

You move until you’re almost pressed up against the dashboard, trying to see the tall and dark figure that is obscured by the angle at which you are sitting. It’s definitely a man, and his stature and entire demeanour is so familiar. You don’t want to be paranoid, but what are the chances? He begins to turn away from the coffee shop across the street, the side of his face exposed and then a loud thudding sound makes you jump.

Gasping, you turn and shove your phone out like it’s a weapon for combat. When you look up, you realize it’s just Becca banging her fist against your window. It takes a prolonged moment for you to decide that you will not murder her in cold blood.

“Y/N? Hello?”

“Sorry, mom,” you say. “Um, one of my friends is here. I’ll call your back later, alright?” You hang up before she can say anything else and then let down the window for Becca.

“Hi, Y/N. I saw your car here and just thought I’d check up on you,” she smiles, you notice another girl stood about three feet away from her, she’s scrolling through her phone and not paying you any attention. “How are you feeling?”

You frown a little, brows furrowing as you look back at her. “What do you mean?”

Becca looks at you, her confusion evident before she brushes the hair away from her face and says, “Um. You seemed pretty startled this morning. I thought maybe…. I’m not sure. I was just checking.”

“Oh,” you shake your head and smile warmly. “No, I’m fine, really. Thanks for checking up on me. I think I’ll survive for now.”

“That’s more like it,” she laughs. “And good, because there’s no way I would have let you miss that party tonight. I know I said I was lowkey about that kind of stuff but we need to have a night of fun.”

Hesitating you say, “I’m really not sure, Bec… ”

The girl rolls her eyes, lightly touching your shoulder, and you move imperceptibly away from it. “C’mon. You’ll totally have a bugging time! Plus there will be loads of cute guys there,” she pauses. “And girls. What do you say?”

Sighing, you flip your hair and lift a hand in a surrendering motion. “I don’t really think I have a choice at this point.”

Valiantly, she smiles. “That’s right. I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

You wave goodbye, and then look forward, about to put your window up again when you here. “Oh, and by the way!”

Throwing a glance back, you see Becca further down the sidewalk, beside the girl she was with as she says, “It’s horror night themed! I’ll snapchat you my outfit.”

 

* * *

 

Horror night themed? You sigh in frustration as you drive back to the apartment. You can’t think of a single thing you own that fits the bill. Everything in your closet is designer and all tones that mesh well together, although you do own a lot of black that could be concocted into some kind of vampire look maybe…

None of this should have been bothering you. It was college and you had been looking forward to this all of last year, and if you were being honest, since you were a child. The way you keep flitting back and forth between being anxious and wary, to wishing for things to be good again is getting ridiculous so you decide, as you pull up in the space before your apartment, that from now on you’re just going to stop thinking about those dreams and focus on the good.

Once you’ve gotten out of the car, you feel a little lighter and like things are going to be better. While reaching into your bag for your keys, the heels of your boots make little clicking noises as you walk, and you don’t even notice them until the sound is cut off as you make it to your door. Frowning, you look down and realize that you have stepped on something.

It’s an envelope.

You’re not sure why, but you have the fleeting suspicious, again, that you’re being watched. None of your neighbours are outside of their apartments and you hadn’t seen anyone when you were coming into the building. It must just be a passing feeling and the envelope is probably junk mail. Unlocking the door, you step into your apartment, drop your bag and toe off your boots with your hands still locked around the paper betwixt your fingers.

Once you have sat down on your sofa, you decide to open the letter. It is sealed with an intricate deep red marking that you cannot decipher. It must be a custom stamp… That’s certainly a little strange, but maybe it’s just one of your father’s associates. After all, you were a part of the family business.

Deciding to be cut-throat about it, you tear open the seal and find nothing. Or at least, that’s what you first think. However, when you shake the envelope a single card falls out. The first thing you notice is that it’s a bright card with a labyrinthine design to it. You flip it over between your fingers, then take a look at the drawing. On the small card is a picture of a skeletal figure riding a white horse and holding a flag. You frown, uncertain of what that is supposed to mean until you look down and see that the card is labeled _Death_.

Now wide-eyed, you immediately drop the tarot card and then dispose of the envelope entirely. Someone must have left it for you as a joke. God, you hated the Gothamite sense of humor. There was nothing amusing about trying to scare someone. You refused to be scared.

Yet, even as you stripped out of your dress, avoided looking in the mirror and showered, you couldn’t help but feel as if something very bad was going to happen.

Reaching for a towel, you got out from the shower and wiped the condensation from your bathroom mirror and take a peek at the bruises along your neck. In your time, you have had a hickey or two and these do not even remotely resemble hickies. Plainly, it looks like finger marks. Like someone has had their hand wrapped around your throat.

Shaking your head, you pad out of the bathroom and put on some casual clothes, just a t-shirt and some small shorts before you head back to your bed. Considering your peculiar wakeup this morning you could use a little relaxation and pick up an old favorite, Sharp Objects. You’ve been trying to finish it for some time but somehow it just keeps escaping you on each attempt.

Now, you’re loosened up from your shower and you feel at ease. All thoughts of strange dreams, boys with hair like blood and ominous letters are let go as you curl up on your comfortable bed and drift away into the magic of your book.

 

The book that you’re reading is rather graphic when it comes to violence and even though you’re completely consumed you can’t help but grimace every now and then. You don’t know how much time has passed, but it feels like it could have been hours, when there’s a knock on the door.

It must be the delivery of some of your college books which haven’t come in yet; even though you’re clinically organized, the same can’t be said for postal services. You sigh and get up, running your fingers through your damp, lengthy hair. Even though you’re only in a skimpy silk peach single with matching bottoms, you get the door because it will only be a minute and maybe you’ll get to enjoy the mailman squirming at the sight of your tits.

“Yes, I’m coming,” you say, exasperated as the knocking continues and then you wrench open the door only to halt and suppress a gasp.

There he is.

Whenever you picture him, it is always blurry. Like looking at your reflection in water or trying to remember a dream. Yet you can identify him without any kind of issue, as if you are cosmically linked. That is him, right there, at your door.

Your eyes roam over his face, those sharp and sculpted features seemingly smug as they watch you watch him. The green eyes are so bright they seem like halos. It’s hard to figure out what is going on inside of you, but your pulse begins to pelt enthusiastically and then he starts laughing.

The laugh is ugly, a deep and vicious kind of sound that you want to cower away from. “It’s me!” He bursts, bent over as he wheezes with the force of his raucous growl like laughter.

Instead of slamming the door in his face or calling for your neighbours to come and intervene you manage to ask in a quivering breath, “You?”

“Why, don’t you recognize me, petal?” He asks, through his giggles. “I am Death! Come at _long_ last,” his voice varies between being sing-song like to deep octaves that rumble.

Without further ado, all of that exaggerated and maniac like amusement is stripped off of his skull and something very sinister replaces it. It does indeed look like a taste of death. The red haired boy sneers and steps forward, making you stumble back into your apartment.

You are too terrified to speak, but you manage to continue moving away from him as he enters your apartment. Every part of you is echoing to scream, run, do something; _anything_. But you just stare at him with blown pupils, as he crowds into your space, as your back hits the wall and there he stares down at you.

Even though you can perfectly see his face, it is difficult to say exactly what he looks like because he doesn’t look like anything or anyone you have ever seen in your life. All you can say is that even though he is terrifying, he is beautiful too.

“What do you want?” You whisper.

The boy tilts his head to the side in a reptilian fashion. Slowly, his burning gaze drops and scorches over your body, clearly taking in the sight of your exposed thighs, long legs, the way the thin fabric rides up them and how your hard nipples are peeking out from the silk on your body and a single strap has fallen effortlessly from your shoulder. You think you must look a mess, but he seems to think differently. It looks like he wants to devour you.

“I want,” he croons, leaning forward so that your cheeks brush and your jaw falls open as you feel light twenty four hour stubble grazing against your cheek. A big hand slides up your side, surprisingly gentle as it moves up your body and then you gasp as it closes tightly around your throat. The boy’s mouth is against your ear and he breathes hotly, “Your blood spilt.”

His other hand grips your wrist at your side, and pulls it over your head, pinning you to the wall so that you can barely squirm much less run away. If you’re being absolutely honest, maybe you don’t want to.

Your eyes flutter closed as the pressure of his hand against the side of your throat begins to increase and you grow dizzy. Reaching up, you grip his wrist with both hands and your neck rolls back in the slightest, you don’t know what you’re doing or why but you feel mesmerized and invite more.

Suddenly, the pressure on your throat is gone and your eyes open to reveal the boy getting down onto his knees. “What--” you start, but you’re cut off by a snarling sound, and he reaches for your hipbones, fingers latching onto your short shorts.

He looks up at you from beneath his lashes, and your heart rate picks up again as your gaze reckons against those buttery green eyes. It seems like he’s asking you for permission, and so you nod, and your lips break on a gasp as he ducks his head down and pulls your shorts down with his teeth.

Your silk shorts fall down to your ankles, the air against your legs suddenly making you feel exposed as the only thing keeping you from being naked at the bottom are your panties.

“Oh god,” you groan, softly as he presses his face against the front of your panties, feeling your throbbing pussy with his nose. His soft breath fans over you throat the thin material, and you can feel the graze of his teeth and damp tongue just brushing over your clit. No one has ever touched you there before, and if you’re honest, being a virgin at nineteen is embarrassing to you but you’re certainly not a virgin for lack of choice. You could have had sex with any number of people… It’s just that you wanted it to mean something.

But you never realized that it could be this carnal; this hot.

Biting your lip, you reach down and fist your fingers through his red hair and arch your hips up against the seam of his damp mouth as it grazes over your wet cunt. You want to tell him to hurry up, to slide your panties down and eat you out but instead you whimper and hope that he will get the message.

The boy kisses your pussy, looking up at you with a smirk against his lips. Closing your eyes again, you keep your lip between your teeth and anticipate the feeling of a hot, wet mouth sealing over your clit and sucking while his tongue flicks over and over you. Instead, something sharp and ferocious digs into your inner thigh causing you to yelp on a scream and jerk.

Looking down, you see the boy detaching himself from you thigh and wiping blood from his mouth. Horrified, you twist your leg so you can properly see your thigh and there a bitemark in the shape of his mouth is swelling. The indentations of his teeth were so brutal with their force that there is still blood oozing from the ugly looking wound. You start to panic, touching the blood that is slowly crying from your thigh and that same awful, scream like laughter starts up again.

The boy seems hunched over, still on his knees with his mouth wet from a combination of your juices and blood. He slaps his thigh and wheezes with laughter, absolutely cackling as he watches you and then, much to your horror, you remember what he said… “I want your blood spilt.”

 

* * *

 

When you wake up you are sweating bullets again.

The hair at the back of your head sticks to your neck and you lurch upright, panting hard as you look around frantically to try and get your bearings. Lifting a hand to your heaving chest, you relax the slightest as you realize that it was just a dream. A really fucked a dream. Jesus, what is wrong with you?

Shaking your head, you tie your hair up with an elastic from your wrist but frown as you realize that it’s a little sore, and you rub the pain out of it.

All at once, there is a sinking feeling in your stomach. You tell yourself not to look, not to even bother checking; that it’s a lost cause and moreover, it is impossible. But slowly, tentatively, you push the sheets off your body and hold your breath.

“Oh god,” you whisper.

There it is. The bitemark, clear as day, fresh as blood on your thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks if you're keeping up with the story! Let me know what you're thinking so far. :))


	3. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I haven't been updating this. 2016 was pretty out there, that's all I can say. Hopefully you will join me with the rest of this fic. Jerome is back and so am I. **)

The best way to get over something is to pretend it didn’t happen.

This is what you tell yourself to keep from pacing, pulling out your hair, calling your mother and all in all just plain going crazy. Crazier than you already are.

You’re not crazy. All that is happening is that you are having wildly unexplainable dreams and… rashes of some sort. That makes perfect sense.

As you sip at the glass of water you have served yourself, you decide to check your messages and there are a few from your friend Becca regarding the party but you only skim them before deciding that you need to hurry up if you’re going to make it there on time.

It isn’t every day that you go to a horror themed party and you’re feeling jittery so your makeup is rushed. Sitting in front of the mirror, you try not to notice how your usually flushed cheeks have paled and drained.

You glance at your phone again and the time reads 8:00. You’re a whole hour late.

It makes no sense considering how when you jumped into the shower you still had two hours and counting. It’s not possible that you just blanked out for that long. Is it?

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and decide to focus. Center yourself. This is all just stress. That, and you’re psyching yourself out over absolutely nothing.

With a quick hand, you do your make up. You apply an exaggerated cat eye, with burnt orange and soft brown shades encompassing your eyes and a deep, dark blood red lip. Once you’re done, you look at yourself in the mirror and have to admit that you really do look striking. Once you’re dressed in a black number, thigh high skin tight boots and take your bag off the counter you’re ready to go.

The moment you step outside your apartment door the air feels easier going into your lungs.

You’re so light-headed and taken aback that you don’t notice the single card laying at the foot of your door.

* * *

 

The drive to the party is one swept by rain and the crackling of thunder. For a brief moment you actually think that you might have an accident. You’ll be yet another name on in the Gotham gazette, a life lost too soon. The somber glow to an already burning city will be short lived.

Gosh. When did you get so morbid?

Shaking your head, you pull up and take a linger last look at yourself. You remember that you forgot to apply mascara and spend another minute adding that. As you get out of the car, you notice that a group of other college aged kids are approaching the house and are dressed similarly to you however they’re wearing masks. Becca said that this was a costume party not a masquerade one. Why would she say that to you?

The dull buzzing of a million questions in your head is starting to make it hurt. You decide to let it go and just march into the sorority house, elbows back and chest out. Despite whatever vague insecurities you may have you know you look drop dead gorgeous tonight. Your hair wasn’t being difficult and your makeup is flawless. It doesn’t help that you happen to be wearing a gorgeous dress.

Every guy, and a few girls for that matter, are staring at you as you enter.

The brush of self doubt does settle in once you realize that the whole masquerade thing was really taken to heart. You’re the only person who’s not wearing one. Slowly, you walk towards a table with an assortment of drinks and eye them. You are not sure exactly what to do with yourself now. In the corner of your eye, you can see a typical frat boy looking guy sizing you up like he’s trying to talk himself into talking to _you_. You really hope he doesn’t manage to get the nerve.

You look down at the table and find a discarded dark red mask and seal it on, tying it behind your hair. It fits like a glove and you feel sensual…

“Hey! You made it!”

When you turn there’s Becca and she’s all dressed up. No hint of a costume on aside from a blue mask.

“Yeah, I did,” you smile.

“Wow,” she takes a breath and looks at you. “You look hot!”

You laugh. “Thanks.”

“Hey, I’m sorry about the mix up! I was going to text you that I accidentally told you this was a costume party when I meant a masquerade. I’m a total idiot! Can you forgive me?” She sings it. “I mean, you’ve got a mask on anyway but still.”

You shake your head, a little smirk on your lips. Her little song and dance of an apology has warmed you up. “I’ll think of something to get you back.”

“Deal. Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

Before you can say anything, her hand is wrapped around your wrist and she pulls you further into the house. It’s all dim, glowing with soft warm fairy lights and there’s an impressive amount of prompts from the sultry vibe in the lightening and the music not to mention the décor of the house itself. It really does fit the whole mysterious thing.

“Tadaaaa!” Becca sings, and throws her hands out.

“They have a bar,” you observe, then laugh. “I’m driving.”

“Oh, c’mon, you. Let loose! You’re in college now. You don’t have to be such a little prude.”

“I’m not a _prude_. I’m just not reckless.”

Becca smirks, “Have a drink. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

You’re already convinced but you take a second, pretending like it’s something you’re still debating and against before you sigh and let her pull you towards the bar. Next thing you know, you’ve got your third drink in your hand and you are laughing at something one of Becca’s friends have said.

“You’re stunning. I’m sure you get that all the time, right?”

Laughing softly, you lightly swat a delicate hand against the dirty blonde’s chest.

“That doesn’t mean I get tired of hearing it.”

“Well that’s good because I’ve been thinking it this whole time so chances are you’re going to have to hear it a few more times.”

You can feel yourself flirting, “Lucky me.”

Looking up, you meet Becca’s eyes, she is now across from the bar and grins at you. Something low in your stomach fills with unease but you smile back.

“Do you smoke?”

You look back at the blonde – Bobby?

“Sure.”

The two of you go outside and if the inside of the house was impressive then you had no idea what was to come. The backyard is completely covered in lights, a combination of warm and cool, the cool toned ones are lightly glowing. Red fabric is wrapped around the thick trunks of the trees and then hang from the tree tops which create a canopy like effect. It reminds you of circus tent but far more opulent.

“Pretty neat, huh?”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding, “I’ll say. Do these parties happen often?”

“No way. I’ve never actually been to one like this, apparently some guy set it all up. Funded everything. I don’t think anyone really knows who it was though. People with money will blow it on anything, huh?”

You only hum softly in response.

Beside you, Bobby is lighting up a cigarette and hands it to you first.

“Why, a true gentleman!”

He grins, all puppy dog. “Romance ain’t dead.”

You laugh and take a slow drag. Part of you is wondering why you agreed to go outside of the party and smoke up with this stranger, you’re not a smoker and you’re not the kind of person you just makes new friends.

“You really are stunning,” he says, breaking into your thoughts. He sounds gentler now. “You’ve got real daydreamy eyes.”

“Do I?”

He leans in close, you can see his skin in full detail and his hair is almost brushing against the sides of your face. You haven’t even seen his full face but part of you is welcoming this.

Behind him, a flash of red and a smile emerges from the shadows and you jerk back.

 It’s him. It’s him. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“Hey? What did I do? I thought you were into it.”

Panicked, you can’t find the words. You can’t even find your voice. Your head is buzzing loudly now and you just shake your head, push past him and stalk toward the hint of red.  

But he’s gone. You stumble back into the party, moving through the writhing and grinding bodies, the pulsing music. Your head is spinning and you turn in every direction until it isn’t just your head spinning. By the end of it, you’re hunched over the drinks table and someone is touching your arm to try and soothe you but your eyes are still wide behind the mask.

It was him.

* * *

 

Becca drives you home shortly after. The music in your car is on loudly and she’s singing along to the pop song playing.

You want to join in but it’s impossible for you to get that glimmer out of your head.

The weather has cleared up considerably, there’s no more storm on the horizon and not even a touch of rain.

Becca drops you off and kisses your cheek.

“Do you want to take my car back to your place? I can make it to college on my own.”

She laughs. “No, babe. I already called an uber. Go sleep this off.”

“’m not sleepy.”

“Are you kidding me? You look like a ghost. Shoo!”

You pretend to pout at her, and laugh as you climb the stairs, your dress hiking up your thighs. Once you’re inside your apartment you are taking off your make up and hissing as you peel off your boots and dress. You don’t even bother with pajamas, falling to the bed with only your bra and panties on.

For a long moment, you lie there and think about your dreams and the redhead you saw in a drunken stupor. Slowly, you bring your hand between your legs and rub two fingers against the front of your panties. You want to stop thinking but you can’t. You rub yourself faster and then end up wriggling out of your panties, touching yourself until you’re wet and fucking yourself. It’s hot and you’re panting. You’re not going to last a second longer.

The last thing you see before you pass out is red.


	4. The Ballerina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Slowly getting back into the swing of things here **) Bear with me!! I love writing this story so much and love to hear what you guys have to say, it really helps me get going. Anyway, reader is going to have a little bit of backstory soon. I hope that's okay with you guys but it's important for the plot. Have a beautiful day and enjoy x

_When you were a child your parents were adamant that you would take on the family business. Your father in particular was dead set on this outline for your life and would constantly drill future duties into you._

_In terms of necessities you were not lacking. Quite the opposite, in fact. You were raised in a lavish lifestyle – to the outside eye it probably seemed like you had the perfect life. That couldn’t be more false._

_Until you were seventeen you were a ballerina._

_It was more than a sport to you, more than an after school activity. It was your passion and lifeline. You weren’t exactly intending on becoming a ballerina for your career path. But it was an escape. It healed your mind and body in ways that things like drugs, drinking and sex couldn’t. They just bored you._

_When you put on Erik Satie’s Gymnopédie, tied your hair back with a baby pink ribbon and lost yourself in the music and the brilliant pain which would shoot all the way through your toes to your thighs and then constrict around your waist and seem to paralyse you – you would just keep moving. Maybe you liked the pain a little, it forced you to move forward._

_Maybe that said more about your personality than you would like to admit. But escaping can never be bad. Can it?_

_Of course, as you have learned in your young life nothing good can last. It was just such a shame you had to learn this the hardest way imaginable._

_*_

After the party you feel less like an outcast.

It is surprising to you how seamlessly you fit into college life. You never expected things to run so smoothly for you. In fact, there is a niggling feeling in the back of your head that is telling you that this is the calm before the storm deceiving you. But how can that be possible? For once in your life you are fully independent and loving it.

You’ve formed a group of friends, most of them people that you vaguely recall meeting at the party. There’s the guy who almost kissed you, too.

It’s less lonely when you have friends around you. Honestly, you kind of find yourself liking the blue glow in your room as your phone steadily buzzes as texts come from your new friends. Throughout high school you weren’t some social freak but suffice to say you didn’t have the limelight on you towards the end. At least not in a good way… This is definitely a fresh start.

That, and the dreams have stopped. After the party it’s been quiet. You’re not sure why but so far you’re liking being able to go to sleep and actually sleep. Avoiding whatever that strange episode was seems to be doing you good and you’re not going to look into it and question just why those dreams happened in the first place let alone why they stopped.

“So, then Todd said he thought I was too high maintenance for him and I was like, um, okay, tell it to me in a detailed letter. _Anyway_ ,” your new friend Sophie sighs, “Wanna grab dinner after class?”

“Sure.”

“How does sushi sound?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Sorry, but I need brain food. And by brain food I mean something that’s going to fill me up.”

Sophie laughs and pushes you playfully. “How dirty.”

It’s a nice day out on campus, the sun is out and your hair is down and in curls down your back. You’re smiling at your friend and about to tell her that she hasn’t seen anything yet when something hard shoves against you and knocks you to the floor, the books and binder in your arms sent flying.

“Y/N! Oh my god. Are you okay??”

Albeit mortified, you get onto your knees and feel the stare of passing by students on you. “I’m fine,” you murmur.

“I’m sorry,” says a soft voice. “I lost my head for a minute there.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though you’re still completely reeling with embarrassment.

“Here. Let me help,” says the voice, getting down beside you and helping to collect the rest of your scattered books. He passes one of them to you and it is then that you look up and meet his eyes.

You blink, mesmerized for a moment.

“There you go,” says the boy, and then takes your hand and helps you up onto your feet.

A slow and soft smile blossoms on your lips.

“Better luck taking me out next time,” you tease.

He grins, broad and glittering. “Hey, at least you’ve got a good sense of humor, huh? Nothin’ like being able to take a good old fashioned _joke_.”

Beside you Sophie is looking between the pair of you. “Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You really took it hard there.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Don’t worry about me. Honestly, I’m tough as steel.”

Sophie looks slightly apprehensive and looks between you and your tall, dark and handsome stranger again. “Um. Well, I’ve got to go to class. I’ll see you for dinner later. Right, Y/N?”

“Of course. See you.”

The boy who knocked you down holds his hands behind his back and smiles mischievously at you. “Don’t you worry, sunshine. I’ll let you get me back someday.”

You blush and nudge him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“C’mon, you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll walk you to class.” He then takes your arm in his and says that it’s for caution because of ‘your two left feet’.

“I do not have two left feet!” You exclaim. “I’ll have you know I’m a ballerina. I’m graceful as can be.”

He blinks at you, green eyes seeming enthralled. “You’re a ballerina?”

“Well,” you start. “I was.”

He raises a brow. “And now?”

You smirk. “Now I just get shoved over by handsome strangers.”

“My, my. I nearly break her in two and she still flatters me. Too _sweet_.”

“It’s sickening, isn’t it?”

He laughs at you. You’re not sure why but you can tell that this laugh isn’t quite directed at what you’ve said – it’s more just an over all laugh _at_ your person. You’re charmed though and smile, giggling a little.

“Aw. Gone so soon,” he pouts as you reach your class.

Your brow furrows, something unfurling inside of you. You go cold and something feels wrong and suddenly he seems _familiar_. “How did you know this was my class?”

“Lucky guess,” he smirks, looking positively malevolent.

Your heart stops.

The boy with green eyes and a mean smile holds up your Lit book and slowly hands it over to you. Your fingers brush, sending your pulse racing.

You smile at him and go into class. It’s only after you’ve sat down and the class has already begun that you realize you never got his name.

*

Later at dinner, you and Sophie unwind. It was a long day and you like the stress reliever of just being able to go out with a friend and eat good food. You feel relaxed.

“I feel so stuffed,” your friend says, as the pair of you walk home.

She doesn’t live far from you so you both decided to pick a restaurant nearby so you could drink and walk home.

“Please,” you scoff. “I could eat all over again.”

She shakes her head at you and the pair of you giggle over nothing. Maybe you’re a little tipsy.

“Ugh,” she groans. “I wish I could move like you!”

You rise to your tip toes and pirouette several times on the sidewalk. It probably looks like something out of an Italian Vogue catalogue. “You mean like this?” You laugh, throwing one hand into the air and finishing off with a plie.

“Oh my god!” She cries. “I’m so jealous. You’re a superstar and and all the cute guys want you.”

“What? You mean like that guy from today?” You grin and lean into her, feeling a little dreamy.

She stiffens beside you. “Sure…” She clears her throat. “But I mean, Billy has a total crush on you. Big time.”

 _Billy_. Right, that’s his name. Billy.

“Oh, right,” you prod her a little. “Tell me how cute you thought that guy was today!”

“He was fine.”

You frown. “What? Just fine? Are you kidding me?”

She looks at you then, looking mildly horrified before shaking her head and turning away. Your frown only deepens and you say, “ _What_? Why did you look at me like that?”

“It’s nothing.”

You pause her in her tracks. This is the spot where she you two will change directions as you turn right and she has to cross the street. “Please, Y/N. This isn’t funny.”

Shaking your head you want to throw your hands in the air but settle for saying. “ _What_ isn’t funny? I don’t get it!”

Sophie looks at you then, wide eyed. “Didn’t you see his face?”

This takes you by surprise. You laugh. “Of course I saw his face. Why do you think I was saying how cute he was?”

“I have to go,” she says quickly, then. “I’ve got to get home and I’ve got an assignment I need to lock down. Tonight was fun.” In the blink of an eye, she disappears, nearly running across the street to get away from you even as you call after her.

The rest of your walk home isn’t exactly pleasant.

What did she mean – his face? What about it? Everything about his face seemed entirely normal to you. She left in such a hurry, too. There’s no way she had an assignment that she was going to crack down on at this hour, especially when she had just said when you’d left the restaurant that she was exhausted and planning on going straight to sleep after getting home and watching The Bachelor.

You check your mail and take the stairs up to your apartment. A neighbor is coming home at the same time as you, the pair of you greet one another and he asks you how you are and you return the smallest of small talks.

When you open the door to your apartment there is a note pushed until the door. Before you even touch it, you know that it is bad news.

You open the letter and there is… nothing.

There’s nothing?

You frown and tip the letter over and out falls a stamp.

It has a logo on it but you can’t quite distinguish it. You’ve never seen the symbol before. It looks like an L hooked around a C. But you really can’t be sure. Whatever it is, it gives you the creeps. You put it under a jar in the kitchen and decide that you’ll deal with it in the morning.

You take off your make up, get into your PJ’s and fall asleep while watching television.

 The door opens and you feel like you’re unraveling as footsteps approach.

He’s standing at the foot of your bed and it’s like you can already feel him on your skin before he even touches you. Before he even comes near you.

He gets on the bed and his body covers yours, settling on top of you like he is an extension of your body. You moan, loving being weighed down and clutch at the back of his neck to pull him closer as he attaches himself to yours.

For some reason, you don’t question any of it. You just let it happen.

It feels so good. Like this is all meant to be.

He’s hard and hot against your thigh. You reach down tentatively to grab at it, but his big hand wraps around your wrist and holds you down. You like that and you let him know. He pushes his head down and sucks at your nipple, looking up at you as his pink tongue swirls slowly around it until you’re wet and writhing into him.

He feels so good you want to die.

Then, his nails scratch over your cheek making you gasp sharply and blink quickly. Why did that feel good? His tongue fattens out against your cheek and his licks up at the dribble of blood.

“Oh, sugar,” he breathes against your skin. “I’ve missed you _so_.”

*

You wake up with a jolt.

There are five missed calls and dozens of texts on your phone but you can’t read them. The time on your phone is 8:30. You’re already a half hour late!

You’re in such a whirlwind of a hurry, changing into a white tee with fashionable holes in it and blue skinny jeans, that you don’t even get a look in the mirror. You grab your black trench and grey knitted scarf on your way out the door and race to get to school. If you get there lightning quick, you’ll make it without being late to class.

Jesus. What happened last night?

Dread fills your stomach and you step up the pace. You need to stop drinking on school nights, that’s for sure. You make it in time though, part of you is filled with pride and you let out a deep exhale and release the pent up anxiety that had flooded you.

However, as you walk toward your building you spot a couple of your friends. There’s Becca. Something about the picture seems off and your brow creases, your smile slowly fading as you realize that Becca has her arm around one of your other friends and there are tears in her eyes.

“Y/N,” one of the girls sob as they spot you.

“Hey,” you breathe. “What happened? Why is everyone so…” you drift off and look around the small group, even the guys seem distraught.

Becca gawks, seemingly in shock that you have no idea what is going on. “Y/N… Sophie’s dead.”

Time seems to stop. You have the limbs of a ballerina but they feel as if they might collapse now. This has to be a dream.

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: Honey--Limbed.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> TO BE CONTINUED.


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